She found her father bent over an account book, spectacles perched low on his nose.He looked up at her knock, surprise flickering across his features.Normally, she didn’t greet him until he came downstairs.
“It appears by what you’re wearing that you intend to ride.”
“I was hoping to, yes.Only within the estate.”How should she broach the topic?She sighed.
Her father raised his eyebrows.“Lise?Is something amiss?”
“Perhaps,” she said, and then amended.“Or perhaps not amiss exactly, but terribly important.”
He closed the accounts book.“Sit down and tell me.”
She did.She told him everything that mattered and nothing that did not, that an English lord was hiding in their stable and that his horses were not too far away.A beacon to any who found them.
“A telltale sign to the French patrol that someone is in the area,” she suggested.
Her father closed his eyes a moment and shook his head.Before she could stop her words, she found herself defending Jonathan.
“What he does,” she said, “is not only of value to England but to us, Papa.Is it not?Unless we want there to be only one choice for our future.”
Her father studied her in silence for a long moment.“I wish he had not returned, but ‘he who has eaten under my roof stands under my protection,’” he said quietly.
Lise recognized the old saying, a proverb about hospitality, honor, and protection to guests.“Gastrecht,” she said softly.
“Yes, Lise, once activated,Gastrechtdoesn’t vanish the moment a welcome guest leaves the house.I will shelter himandhis horses.And he is correct about staying in the stable and not in our house.This proves he is honorable.”
She met his gaze.“Thank you.”
That earned her a sharp look, as she’d perhaps shown too much caring for her brother’s friend.
“On his behalf, of course.”
“Hm,” he said, eyes narrowing.“Tell Lord Bowen he may bring the horses in, and keep this between us.”
Relief flooded her so suddenly she felt tears well up and had to look down at her lap until she’d mastered at least the appearance of disinterest.In any case, the horses weren’t yet safely hidden in the stable, and Jonathan would risk much by going to get them.
“Jacob will ask questions, Papa,” she reminded him.
But her father shook his head.“You may tell him the horses belong to a friend.He need not know anything more.”Then he took in a long breath.“Don’t say a word to your mother about any of this.She will worry.And tell his lordship that I’m sorry to say this, but he must not cross my threshold.Not while French patrols are within a day’s ride.”
Standing, he touched the top of her head the way he did when she was young.“I will not have my household accused of harboring an enemy agent, nor risk my family.”
“He understands, and already said as much.And I understand, too, Papa.”
“I believe you do.”He hesitated.“Lise… this is not a small thing we are doing.”
“I know.”Rising to her feet, she grabbed her father’s hand, and he squeezed it.“Then God keep us all.”
Her next stop was the kitchen.If Lord Bowen was going to walk two miles, already looking like he needed sustenance, then she had best fetch him something substantial.
“Not a good time, Fräulein,” Frau Becker said when Lise breezed through the doorway.“I’m preparing breakfast.Besides Sofie is picking vegetables.She’s not here to instruct you on bread or anything else.”
“Of course,” Lise said, wondering how to get food for Jonathan without drawing suspicion.“About breakfast, I was thinking of going for a stroll and wondered if I might simply take a few rolls and some cheese with me.You don’t have to do anything.I’ll pack up what I want.”
Her request was a little unusual.Not waiting for permission was even more unusual, but she must stop behaving as if she were still a child, fearful of their cook’s brusque nature.Dropping her gaze from Frau Becker’s formidable expression, ignoring when she muttered about Lise being as demanding as a French soldier, she skirted the cook and disappeared into the larder.
A few minutes later, she encountered a wide-awake Jacob already well into his chores.He eyed her basket.
“Are the French back?”
